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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530086">You better learn your lesson well</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_norram/pseuds/dana_norram'>dana_norram</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A question of lust (trust) ~ aka The Monastery Series [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Missing Scene, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_norram/pseuds/dana_norram</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Martín realises that’s probably the first time he thinks of him as a professional and not just as one of Sergio’s misfits. Martín knows he shouldn’t be surprised, though. That man was a soldier in the Balkans. Five years ago, Andrés and him probably would have hired someone like Helsinki for their Plan.</p>
  <p>(<i>Andrés did hire him</i>, Martín remembers, a sick feeling in his stomach. For the wrong plan, yes, but Andrés did pick <i>him</i>.)</p>
</blockquote>You can check the Spanish version here: <a href="https://www.wattpad.com/953597020">Será mejor que aprendas bien la elección</a>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A question of lust (trust) ~ aka The Monastery Series [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You better learn your lesson well</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I would like to thank the lovely <b>fedorah</b> for beta-reading this fic for me. Remaining mistakes are mine. In case you don’t know this already, they write amazing helermo stories, so <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedorah/pseuds/fedorah">go check it out</a> (you will need to be logged on AO3 to read them).</p><p>Also: this story is a follow up from my previous fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24266098">I'll make your heart smile</a>. You don’t have to read it in order to understand this one, but I guess it’d work better if you do?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martín wakes up before his alarm. He's disoriented at first, and he groans in frustration as he disentangles himself from the blankets he doesn't remember covering himself with. Then he's slightly surprised as he realises he's half-naked under it. It only takes him a couple of seconds to remember why.</p><p>He doesn't have an exact memory of how Helsinki looked between his legs last night, but somehow there's still this tingling sensation of coarse hair against his inner thighs, the feeling of a huge pair of hands kneading his muscles like a phantom ache.</p><p>Martín finds his briefs tucked between his bottom and the crumpled sheets, but his robe is mostly still on and, after a quick self-inspection, he's vaguely surprised that the insides of his thighs don't feel as sticky as they should. He feels his face become hot with shame, though, as the memory of Helsinki running a washcloth against his skin comes back with full force. Martín can't remember the last time he had allowed someone to do something like that.</p><p>He can't resent Helsinki, though, not when the man is clearly responsible for the first full night of sleep he's had in days. He had trouble in that area for more than three years, and his pills got him through the worst of it, helping to numb his mind and his pain, but he knows he couldn't rely on them right now. Now, he needs to be sharper, for the Plan (<i>for Andrés</i>). So, Martín had flushed them all down his toilet while Sergio had been waiting for him to pack his things in his little flat in Palermo. It has cleared his head, but not without a cost.</p><p>Martín hadn't really been surprised when he couldn't manage to sleep on his first night at the monastery. His ghosts had followed him all the way from Sicily and then congregated with the ones he had left here. It had been almost morning when he gave up and opened a bottle of wine. He was barely functional in class that second day, so he began drinking earlier the following nights, to numb his senses just in time to fit in a few more hours of oblivion. The downside of this tactic is he usually ends up falling asleep with the lights still on or without a blanket and Martín always wakes up only a few of hours later, shivering and miserable, and when he manages to sleep again, his blood somehow has diluted some of the alcohol and then, that's when he dreams.</p><p>In the past, every time he popped pills or fucked his way into exhaustion, so he wouldn't have to face those dreams, Martín felt he was cheating on Andrés. He didn't want to give them up, though. He loved those dreams like a diabetic loved sugar, like a moth loved light.</p><p>Now, each morning, his dreams are regularly interrupted by his alarm, set in time for him to become functional before class. Each morning, a new song is played by his radio and he wakes up. It's like pressing pause on a movie picture, and in his dreams Andrés stops talking mid-sentence, his smirk frozen in time and if Martín stays in bed with his eyes closed for a moment or two he almost, <i>almost</i> can touch him, can hold that made-up memory and take it with him to class. Take Andrés to the chapel he helped decorate, from the oil paintings to the furniture they bought from Florence and Pisa antique shops. It's excruciating to be there, day after day, and to feel Andrés' sideways gaze upon him, but Martín knew he could do it if he only focused on the Plan. The Plan was what brought him back here, after all.</p><p>It's for the plan that Martín leaves his bed that morning. Almost at the same time, his alarm finally goes off and a song starts to play in the background as he washes his face (<i>You had something to hide</i>) and brushes his teeth, a familiar, bitter taste on the back of his throat (<i>Should have hidden it, shouldn't you</i>). He resists the urge to roll his eyes at the song (<i>You will always wonder how</i>) and turns off his radio (<i>it could have been if you'd only lied</i>) before heading to the kitchen in search for coffee.</p><p> It's a very cold morning and he finds Nairobi and Tokyo already at the table, pretty heads close together, talking in hushed tones. Martín ignores the odd looks they both give him until he remembers who one of them bunks with.</p><p>The hope that Nairobi is somehow oblivious about what happened last night is destroyed when Tokyo's face lights up with a knowing smile and she fucking <i>winks</i> at him. Martín ignores her, drinks his coffee and feels disproportionately grateful for its bitter taste. He's usually good at reading people and Helsinki doesn't seem like the type who would run back to his friend and tell her about the amazing night he had, but Nairobi surely would have noticed him sneaking back in. Plus, Martín was the one who made his intentions crystal clear in front of everyone a week ago. Like most of the things in his life, he couldn't blame anyone but himself.</p><p>As Tokyo opens her mouth, he can feel there's an altercation on the way, one he's not remotely in the mood to have. Fortunately, Sergio picks that precise moment to grace them with his presence and rescues Martín, claiming a sudden need to pick his brain before class.</p><p>The next hour is filled with blueprints all covered in Sergio's clever little notes and Martín is grateful for every one of them. He doesn't have to think about anything else until it's time for class, but when he turns to take his seat, he finds Helsinki talking to Nairobi as he is sucking on one of those heart-shaped lollipops.</p><p>If Martín was a better man, he would have walked to his chair without a single nasty thought on his mind, but he's not, and he can't help thinking about how they both had something else in their mouths the previous night. He remembers the way Helsinki's cock felt against his tongue, hot and heavy and he wonders if the big man would like to have another go sooner rather than later.</p><p>Sergio begins today's lecture by clapping his hands and everyone's attention is immediately drawn to him. It's like a switch is flipped inside Martín's brain and for the next hours the only thing in his head is how he's going to make Andrés proud.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It's still cold after lunch, but in the afternoon there's a beautiful clear sky, and Sergio decides they were done with theory for the day.</p><p>Though the shooting range was assembled a couple of miles away from the monastery, deep in the Tuscany countryside, he was adamant they used silencers at all times, so they won't disturb the monks. So, most of the noises overheard that afternoon comes from Denver's rattle and Tokyo and Nairobi's snarky comments every time someone misses the target, especially when it's one of the boys. On the first days, Stockholm had the worst aim between them all, though Martín could see she's getting better with every new practice. Tokyo's probably the best shot, but Martín wouldn't admit it, not even at gunpoint. Marseille, Lisbon and Helsinki are close runners-up.</p><p>Martín knows he's not so bad himself, especially when he has a 9 mm, but he's inexperienced when it comes to machine guns and he knows he should get better at them in order to lead the heist. At least, that's what he tells himself as he watches Helsinki by the range, reloading the intimidating weapons while the rest of the group is taking a break so they can have a light snack. Martín makes two chorizo sandwiches and walks back to the range before he can change his mind.</p><p>"Ey, gordo," he calls out from a safe distance. One of the first lessons Lisbon gave to them was about not sneaking up on a comrade while they are armed. "You are pretty good with them." </p><p>Helsinki only shrugs and accepts the sandwich Martín hands him.</p><p>"The war, you know," he says after a few bites and that's enough. They eat in silence for a couple of minutes and as Martín finishes his sandwich, he gestures to one of the machine guns and Helsinki hands it to him using only one hand. Martín needs both.</p><p>"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," he says, feeling its weight. "I run through my ammo way too fast." </p><p>Helsinki doesn't reply right away, just gives Martín a once over as he takes one last bite of his food. "Take a shot, let me watch you." </p><p>Martín can't help but smirk, but he doesn't say anything. He takes a few steps back, locks eyes on the target and shoots a couple of rounds, always wary of the recoil. He misses nine out of twenty shots and is busy trying not to curse out too loud, so he doesn't notice Helsinki walking behind him until he feels a pair of big hands on his shoulders. Apparently, someone didn't care too much for Lisbon's lessons.</p><p>“Here.” Helsinki's voice feels rough that close to his ear and Martín feels hot all over despite the cold wind blowing in his hair. "You are shooting too fast." He says and Martín bites his tongue before he can make a joke about who's faster between the two of them, but there's no fire in Helsinki's voice. In fact, he sounds all business.</p><p>Martín realises that's probably the first time he thinks of him as a professional and not just as one of Sergio's misfits. Martín knows he shouldn't be surprised, though. That man was a soldier in the Balkans. Five years ago, Andrés and him probably would have hired someone like Helsinki for their Plan.</p><p>(<i>Andrés did hire him</i>, Martín remembers, a sick feeling in his stomach. For the wrong plan, yes, but Andrés did pick <i>him</i>.)</p><p>"When you try to fire longer rounds of shots, your accuracy will deteriorate very fast." Helsinki's quiet voice snaps him back, and he takes the heavy gun from Martín's frozen hands. He positions himself by his side, unaware of Martín's inner turmoil, and takes aim, firing rapidly, twenty, thirty shots in a matter of seconds. Helsinki manages to hit the middle of the target most of the time, but a good number of bullets graze the outer circles.</p><p>"Now, if you fire in shorter bursts-" he says and shoots in groups of three or four, and soon enough there's a pretty neat hole carved in the centre of the target. Only two or three bullets miss it and even then, they don't stray too far off. "Your aim will be better and your ammo will last longer." </p><p>Martín nods and although he feels a little bad for not reaching that conclusion by himself, he doesn't say anything about it. Helsinki reloads the weapon and gives it back to him and Martín practices for the next hour, Helsinki correcting his posture every now and then. Martín has taken off his jacket by the time they finish for the day, and if he watches as Helsinki does the same, showing off his huge tattooed arms, he doesn't feel too guilty.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"Ugh, you need a bath, <i>mi amor</i>," Nairobi says as they drive back to the monastery and Helsinki laughs and tries to hug her in the backseat, which prompts a fit of giggles from both of them when she proceeds to tickle him in retribution. In the passenger seat, Bogotá rolls his eyes. Martín watches from the rearview mirror and he doesn't comment on the fact that he doesn't mind at all the way Helsinki smells, as an appealing idea starts to form in his mind.</p><p>After parking the car, Martín finds the gang busy with dinner plans (it's Tokyo's turn to cook and apparently it's going to be all hands on deck to save dinner, according to Denver). As he fails to locate Helsinki among them, Martín makes his way to the main bathroom next to the cells, not before making a quick stop in his own quarters.</p><p>That main bathroom was the only room that Andrés made a point of repairing during their stay there. Before, it was a poorly lit place with plumbing issues, a sad-looking shower and an old washtub that could barely hold a grown man on his feet. After, it became a proper bathing place, well-lit and well equipped. Though it remained old-fashioned, now it had a surprisingly large shower and a beautiful claw-footed tub where Martín caught Andrés and Tatiana a couple of nights before their wedding.</p><p>Fortunately, back then, they were both too drunk on rich champagne to notice Martín's startled presence and he allowed himself to watch Andrés' naked torso for a couple of seconds, Tatiana's back pressed against his chest, one of his legs propped over the edge, his feet dangling in the air as he sang to her. Martín finally closed the door without making a sound and went back to his cell where he tried not to think about his naked best friend as he jerked off alone. He did remember feeling guilty over it, but now, he feels nothing.</p><p>He doesn't bother knocking this time and it's in the very same tub that Martín finds Helsinki soaking in warm water. As he locks the door behind him, the large man doesn't move from his spot, doesn't seem disturbed or even surprised, his huge arms opened, tattoos on display, wet skin glistening against the yellow light. There's barely any soap foam left, and Martín can almost distinguish the lines of his cock beneath the water. He stills remembers its taste and its heaviness and he knows he wouldn't mind sucking him off again, but he has other plans for tonight.</p><p>"Buenas noches," Martín greets, he was properly raised after all. Helsinki stares back and opens a lazy smile. "Do you mind if I take a shower before dinner?" he asks nonchalantly. "Someone worked me very hard at the shooting range today." </p><p>Helsinki's little smile turns into a full smirk and, without waiting for permission, Martín starts stripping himself. As he takes off layer after layer, he thinks about making a show of it, since Helsinki didn't get the chance to see him properly naked the night before, but the weight of his stare is far too much. He knows he isn't some 17 feet tall David carved in marble, but he's aware of what he looks like. Helsinki seems to agree with him, biting his lower lip and dropping one of his hands under the water, between his legs. Martín can't help a half-smile, feeling himself getting hard under his gaze.</p><p>He muses about walking to the tub and straddling Helsinki's strong legs, but he just can't bring himself to do it, the memory of Andrés and Tatiana soaked and drunk in love still burned in the back of his mind.</p><p>Instead, Martín reaches into the shower stall and turns on the faucet. He hums when hot water caresses the sore muscles of his arms and he soaps up his chest and then between his legs, taking the time to reach behind his balls to finger himself open, fully aware that Helsinki must be watching as his fingers disappear inside of him. It's been a while since the last time he let anyone fuck him and the burn of having only two fingers in is more than enough to make his cock twitch. He overhears a frustrated grunt coming from somewhere in the bathroom and he grins. Well, Helsinki did say he wanted to watch him.</p><p>Martín keeps fingering himself and he is hyper-aware of his surroundings and this time, despite all the noise made by the shower, he overhears the precise moment a large body vacates the tub, water spilling all over the floor, and the sound of Helsinki's careful footsteps getting closer and closer.</p><p>"You little-" Helsinki's voice sounds rougher than earlier against his ear and Martín can't help a smug grin as he finally removes his fingers, bracing himself against the shower wall. At the same time, he feels a warm tongue on the back of his neck and closes his eyes.</p><p>Helsinki takes his time. He mouths and licks his way all over Martín's shoulders until he takes an earlobe between his teeth. Martín fights back a moan and then rests his forehead against the tile, bending a little so his ass is fully pressed against Helsinki's crotch.</p><p>He's not surprised to find him already hard, but he's taken aback when Helsinki doesn't just stick his cock in, but instead resumes kissing his neck, then his shoulder blades, his back, his warm tongue descending along the line of his spine. Martín can feel his coarse beard rubbing against his skin in a way that tickles and burns, and his brain nearly short-circuits when he feels it on his tailbone, and then between his cheeks.</p><p>"<i>Hel-</i>" he half gasps, and his only course of action is to spread his legs a little further apart, allowing Helsinki's tongue to sink inside his body.</p><p>Martín licks his lips and can't help a moan, then a sob, when he feels a finger pressing in along with the warm tongue, one of Helsinki's large hands gripping his hip hard, so he doesn't dare to move away. Somehow, Martín manages a fully coherent thought and turns off the water, so there's nothing else to distract them.</p><p>Now, he can hear all the noises inside the shower stall, the sounds made by Helsinki's tongue, his own struggled moans, and Martín knows he should feel ashamed of himself for being there, in their sacred place, being eaten out by a man he had known for no more than a week. Martín rests his forehead against his arms and tries to breathe. His cock doesn't seem to care about shame, though. He's so hard it hurts, and every time Helsinki brushes a finger over his prostate, he feels his cock leaking bit by bit and he knows he's going to come without even touching himself and he also knows he needs something more this time.</p><p>"Please," he says, praying Helsinki will understand it, because he doesn't know how to do words anymore. "<i>Please</i>," he tries again, and Helsinki stops to stand up and he covers Martín's body with his own, embracing him, hands running up to his chest, caressing a hard nipple between his fingers.</p><p>"No condom here, beautiful," he says in a broken voice against Martín's ear, his cock pressing against his side, but without any force. It's not the first time someone called him beautiful, but it's been long enough for Martín to wish it's true. "Sorry," Helsinki sounds genuinely disappointed as he kisses his neck, fingers gripping Martín's waist, not doubt leaving marks that would be purple in the morning.</p><p>"Back pocket, my pants, on the floor," Martín manages and he thinks he can hear Helsinki's chuckles, but the moment that man leaves the shower, he feels the world going cold and his whole body starts shivering. He closes his eyes, trying to remember how to breathe.</p><p>This time, he doesn't notice Helsinki is back until the man resumes kissing his neck, and his skin tingles against the warmth of the larger body. He doesn't know how much time has passed since he had turned off the water, but his skin is almost dry.</p><p>"Shh, easy-" Martín moans as Helsinki's finger breaches him once again, this time slippery with the lube he brought along with the condom. "Easy there, just let me-" Helsinki says against his neck, the sound of his breathing almost too loud so that Martín's misses the moment he puts the condom on and lubes his cock up.</p><p>When Helsinki pushes in, Martín bites down on his wrist so he doesn't shout, feeling Helsinki's belly and chest pressed against his back, one of his hands keeping Martín in place, the other one finding his softened cock and pumping it back into full hardness in the same rhythm as his thrusts.</p><p>In the next minutes, the only thing in Martín's mind is the warmth inside his body, all over him, around him, and that sensation of almost pleasure and almost pain, everything almost unbearable in a way it hasn't been for the past three years.</p><p>It's all too much and too hard, too fast, and Martín can barely make out the stream of words coming out of Helsinki's mouth against his neck, a messy mix of Spanish and Serbian that doesn't mean anything, but that right now is the only thing he wants, that he needs. Martín feels his own orgasm building up deep inside, along with Helsinki's strong thrusts and steady strokes. His whole body convulses when it finally hits him.</p><p>Helsinki doesn't stop jerking him off until Martín's all soft again, his mind numb. The pressure as Helsinki keeps fucking him becomes almost too much and just, just enough, but it doesn't take him too long to come too, the sound of his grunts then muffled against Martín's shoulder.</p><p>To his credit, Helsinki doesn't try to kiss him afterwards, for which Martín is deeply grateful. At that moment, he might have let him. Carefully, Helsinki pulls out and opens his mouth against Martin's neck and says something in Serbian as he half kisses it, half bites it. Martín feels completely raw and almost happy. He turns the hot water back on, so they both can wash up before dinner.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <i>You had something to hide<br/>
Should have hidden it, shouldn't you<br/>
Now you're not satisfied<br/>
With what you're being put through<br/>
(...)<br/>
Things could be so different now<br/>
it used to be so civilised<br/>
You will always wonder how<br/>
it could have been if you'd only lied<br/>
(...)<br/>
Now you're standing there tongue tied<br/>
You'd better learn your lesson well<br/>
Hide what you have to hide<br/>
And tell what you have to tell</i><br/>
<b>Policy of Truth – Depeche Mode</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, this became a series where Palermo drinks, listens to Depeche Mode and fucks Helsinki in his spare time. I have other stories planned, but I don’t know how many, so I guess you can subscribe and pray for the best.</p><p>Actually, please, leave a comment if you enjoyed it and want to read more about these two idiots finding new ways to break the Professor’s rules all over the Monastery. There must be a reason for Helsinki not being able to sleep with Christ staring at him.</p><p>Also, I don’t know the first thing about firearms, so I just googled “how to use a machine gun” and went with it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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